Skin Deep
by Panda-Monium
Summary: Fleur is half Veela, which means that she is cursed for life with an ungodly beauty. While in France she is raped and her parent are viciously murdered. How can this flower survive? (Please read & review)


****

Skin Deep

__

A Harry Potter fanfiction by Panda-Monium

Warning: this Fanfiction is rated R because it contains rape, sex and violence

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.

A/N: This is a Fleur story. I'm going to fiddle with the couplings though. Begins with a Fleur/Bill, but I will change it as experiences happen to her. This is an R rated Fanfiction and so if you have problems with the things that I put into it, do not read. There will rape and some sex in latter chapters, so don't flame me for it. Please read and review!

*******

__

Although I have a handsome face and colour

Cheek like the tulips, form like the cypress

It is not clear why the Eternal Painter

Thus tricked my out for the dusty show-both of Earth

------Omar Khayyam

*******

Chapter 1: Soulless

I was dreaming. I cannot remember what of, but that always happens after I wake up. The dream dissipates like the wind. I remember my waking though. I think I shall never forget it. After waking my memory became my enemy, my foe. After waking, all I wished to do was forget, like it was a bad dream that never happened. But it did. And I shall never forget.

I woke to the sound of breaking glass. The sound of my mother's favourite vase being reduced to splitters and fragments. My half-conscious thoughts were that my pére had knocked it down and that my mére would be coming out to scold him and fix it is a second. A simple charm would have sufficed. Because it was so trivial, I had closed my eyes, retreated back under my quilt and gone back to sleep. I was too drowsy to notice that no sound followed the destruction of the vase. No sound. No sound at all and I did not notice. I was a fool. It crushes my heart to think that I could of saved myself.

He came into my room quietly, his face covered by a mask and his head with a hood. A Death Eater, one who dances with the devil. I was half-asleep, my dreams returning to me when he ribbed of my coverings. Never did I suspect such a thing would happen in my childhood home, a place that had keep me safe for so many years, through so many troubles. 

His wand was ready, bindings tying my hands and a silence charm to rid me of my voice. I didn't think to reach for my wand. The wand which I dare not touch now, the wand that could have saved me then. Thoughts were rippling through my head. There where no Death Eaters in France. I should be safe from the English madman with a French name. This had to be a nightmare. It had to be, because. because It had to be!

He knew it was real though. He knew exactly what he was doing. I could feel his breath on my checks and hear the thumbing of his chest. His hands cupped my face and held me down. He had dropped his wand on my bed and it had rolled so close to my head that I could see the grain of the wood, but I could do nothing. I was helpless.

His face, it was too close to mine. I could not stand it. All I could see was his devil mask and his dark expressionless eyes. These eyes were cruel and pitiless. They were the source of my fear and disgust. He was looking over me like a piece of meat to be bought. These eyes, the colour of a storm, were filled with human lust, lust that made my heart cry. 

His hands, now free of his wand were travelling over my body, feeling my breasts through my hight dress, travelling up my thigh from beneath it. He saw the buttons on the dress and I felt myself shiver as his hand patiently undid every one of them. I felt like this was not happening to me. I felt like I was an observer to this deed, that my body was not my own. Then he touched me and I was brought back to reality.

He climbed on top of my naked form, his weight an extra assurance that I was helpless. As he finished with one button, his hand explored further, until I lay there, my dress beneath me, with only my underpants as a barrier. With these, he seemed amused. He lay one hand on them, staring at my horrified face, absorbing the terror that I was feeling, the nausea and disgust. By then I had all knowledge of what he was going to do to me. My head was running with images of sex and rape. I had not been with a man before. I wanted my gift to be for the man I loved, not for this monster above me.

The monster took his hands off me, busily opening his robes and making himself ready. I was a catch. I knew this. I lay on the bed ready for the taking, my white, perfect skin alluring, my beauty hard to ignore. I was a picture of lust and I was going to be taken. Did this man have a plan? Had he been watching me? I think he had, because he knew where I was the weakest. I was weakest at my heart.

He was ready now, his mask still obscuring his face, and the hood still hiding his hair, but his robe was discarded on the floor. His masculinity was in full view and I could not bear to look at him, instead closing my eyes and waiting for the deed to occur.

His hand rubbed my thigh, taking off my last piece of clothing in the process. After that, there was pain, a blinding pain that comes from some forcing themselves into you. I screamed a voiceless scream as he pushed, getting into a rhythm. As he pushed his perverseness into me, he has running his filthy hand all over my body, massaging my breasts, pulling and tugging them until I felt like I would give out with the pain. 

My bed ran red with my blood, while he moved faster. His moans filled my room as I screamed my silent screams, my tears mingling with his sweat and my blood. The pain was incredible. There was no pleasure in this, only pain. 

I think he stopped then or maybe latter, but I do not know for sure. The deed could have lasted for hours or been for only a few minutes. I could no longer think logically. My mind was running in circles, my eyes opened by the pure force of the pain. The world was spinning and I felt like I was no longer a part of it. My body was dead and my soul forgotten. I was drifting, my consciousness here and there.

I have vague memories of him healing me, to an extent. I think that he wanted me to live through it, so that I would have to live my life knowing what had been done to me. After that I slept.

~

When I woke again I was confused. I had no idea why there was blood on my bed and why I was naked. Picking up a discarded shirt, I climbed out of my bed. My body felt like I had been thrown out of a window. I hobbled out of my room, trying not to cry out with the pain that this simple act caused me. As a reached the hall, I noticed the state that my house was in.. It was terrible. Books and papers lay discarded around me. The furniture was in pieces and a one glorious glass vase lay shattered on the ground.

The only cohesive thought in my head was that I had to get to my parents. I wanted them to hold me like they did when I was a child. I needed their comfort, their warmth and their life.

Walking still caused me much pain, but I blocked it out. I forced myself to become numb and hollow. I walked across the broken glass and I stared wondering at the ruby coloured footprints that followed me like some faithful dog. Their colour startled me. It was the most real thing in the room.

I remember the numbness. I felt nothing and nothing felt me. I tread across the room, the only evidence my blood, lightness penetrating every limb and organ in me. I was numb and I liked being so.

The room. I eventually got to my parent's room. My heart was frozen, but the need for my parents was still there. One of my most horrid nightmares is from that room. There was no hugs and love for me there. Only cold and death.

I could not help myself. My stomach rebelled from me and I emptied it of all the food I had consumed.

~

I dragged myself to the kitchen. No pain was left in my body. All flesh related injuries were nothing compared to the pain that was coming from my heart. My memory had re-instated itself and an acute sense of absence had invaded me. I knew that my soul was dirty, that my parents were dead. 

I was alone and the numbness taking me over. I preferred the numbness. My life had been transferred to facts and it was okay. My heart had stopped hurting. 

Fleur, the flower, had been de-flowered 

"La fleur est morte." My voice seemed foreign to me. Somehow this was funny to me and so I said again and again, until I fainted, my body finally giving up.

~

They found me, eventually. I, of course, did not care. My insane chanting had been reduced to the whispering of a three cord tune that I vaguely remembered from my childhood. The whole of France knew that a house had been attacked. The dark lord had conveniently left his calling card floating over our home. No French man had yet entered our home yet. No one was willing to see what the mad men had reduced us to. They didn't wish to know if the Delacour's had been tortured or lit from temple to navel. Everyone remembered what happened years ago. They had hoped that this time that the menace would be confined to England, but He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named never would be content with such a smallholding. He was more ambitious than that. The world seemed sometimes too small to him.

I must have been in that house for days. The French Magic Ministry were cowards and called England to tell them to come and pick up garbage. The dark lord was English, so anything about him was their problem. Hmm, and I thought I was a fool.

The Order were the ones who finally found me. Remus, the soulful werewolf, came into the kitchen. He was reviewing the damage. I was the damage it this case. He yelled and woke me up. I thought he was remnant of my old mind come to haunt me. They all came after that. I nightmare more terrifying then my mind could create.

There was only one that truly looked real. My Bill was crying, his tears running down his freckled face. The tears, I think, were from relief. They told me latter that they were shocked at how I looked. I wonder how I looked then. Did I look like the soulless creature that I had become?

Bills large muscled arms picked me up too easily and held me, his tears falling apon my empty face. I was not worthy to be held by this man. He had been my Only, but now I was spoilt goods. He was too good for me, as he always had been. 

The irony was I had spent the weekend with my parents so that I could consider my love for him. I had wanted to give myself totally to him, but I had been taken by force and now I was used, soiled. The irony

I was too numb for him and I wanted to let go, but he just held tighter as I drifted and slept in the husk that I had been reduced to. I couldn't hate, but if I could I would have hated everything, even my love for him. But I couldn't hate. I couldn't feel at all.

"Fleur hang on" Don't worry Bill, it doesn't matter any more. I'm already gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued.


End file.
